I search the marches of my mother-tongue,
A fitting form of sound and sense to find,
And search the vaults of meaning in my mind
To draft a verse that David might have sung.
For David, that sweet psalmist of the Lord,
Was called a man made after God’s own heart,
And this it was that sanctified his art;
That he loved God and dwelt upon His Word.
However clever be the poet’s strain,
The assonance and structure, so sublime,
How fine the rhythm, excellent the rhyme,
‘Twas none but God that gave the poet’s brain.
So let this lesser David also be
After Thine heart, and raising praise to Thee!
(29th November 1988 & 16th April 2000, Hemel Hempstead and Warsaw)